Very Valentine

Gianluca laughs. “You know what men require?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“If you know what a man requires, why not give it to him in order to provide you with your own happiness?”

I look out at the river. And then, my moment of personal transformation comes toward me like the deck lights on the night run of the Hudson River Water Taxi. The illumination happens slowly and surely. First, in the far distance, the lights are dim and flicker in the murky waves, then, as it moves closer to shore on the Manhattan side, the beams turn into searchlights, guiding the boat into the harbor in bright, unrelenting light. The kind of light that ca

He seems surprised that I address him tenderly.

“Roman Falconi needs a wife at the cash register of Ca’ d’Oro, just like his mother was there for his father in their restaurant. You need a friend. You need a woman who can drop everything and go sit by a lake…that one with the cranes…”

“Lago Argento.”

“Right, right. A woman who can sit with you at this stage of your life and be there. You want peace and quiet and nature. You want to coast.”

“Now, you analyze me.”

“Gianluca, it’s true. Listen to me. I am completely attracted to you. I was blindsided by that attraction. I had a boyfriend when I met you, and frankly, you are not my type. You are, however, handsome, and you have beautiful hands, and the sexiest thing of all, you’re a good father. But I’m not for you. I’m not for any man right now. In fact, in this moment, I choose art. I choose the bliss that comes from creating something from the labor of my own hands.”

“You don’t have to choose one or the other. You can have love and work together.”

“But I can’t! I tried. I spent the last year trying to be there for Roman. I can’t spend the next one trying to be there for you. Everybody winds up disappointed and sad and unfulfilled…”

“This is what you believe?” He shakes his head.

“This is what I know.”

Gianluca looks out across the Hudson River, as I’ve done so many times. He sees a dull gray waterway, whereas I see a river that co

After a while, he says, “Your city…is very noisy.” He goes to the door and I hear the door snap shut as he goes back down the stairs into the house. I turn to my river that has never let me down. It’s my constant, my muse. I lean over the railing and look up and down the West Side Highway, which in sunset looks like an unfurled bolt of violet Indian silk punctured with tiny mirrors. This is the river I love and the city that is my home. Yes, it’s noisy, but it’s mine-just how I like it.

Gram’s Thanksgiving table has a flock of construction-paper geese down the center, made by her great-grandchildren. I light bright orange candles in the candelabra underneath the chandelier. Gabriel helps my sisters bring the platters from the kitchen to the table. I give Gabriel a quick hug. “Thank you for coming.”

“My pleasure. I needed a reason to pound my own cranberries, and your invitation gave me the perfect excuse.”

“Is Roman coming?” Mom asks me.

“He sent a cobbler.” I always thought it was fu

“Nobody works harder than Roman,” Mom sighs.

Tess hands me a pitcher of ice water to fill the glasses on the table. She follows me with the gravy boats.

“You’re not going to tell Mom about Roman?” she asks quietly.

“Nope.”

“She was curious about Gianluca, you know.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” I avoid looking at Tess, who knows the whole story: the moon over Capri, the kisses, the grotto. In her mind, that’s a lot of nothing.

“There’s plenty to tell! You fell in love with Roman, and then you were hit by lightning again in Italy with Gianluca. Two fabulous men in one year! That’s a fairy tale. You’re Cinderella with two, count them, two princes.” Tess straightens the cloth napkins next to the plates.

“Oh yeah, except when I tried on the slippers they were sample-size six. And I’m a nine.”

“So cram,” Tess says.

“I tried! But let’s face it: this is one Cinderella who’s going to make her own slippers.”

We gather the family around the table. Dad sits down at the head of the table, and Gram at the other end. He raises his glass.

“Let us first give thanks for the good health of our family, especially Ma’s recovery from her spill. And then, while we’re at it, let’s thank God for the new Teodora, baby T.”

Jaclyn rocks her new baby in her arms.

He continues, “And as per usual, Lord, we give thanks for the surprises life holds. Ma’s engagement springs to mind, and why wouldn’t it? That was a shocker. Gabriel, it’s good to see you-”

As with most of my father’s prayers, they don’t have actual endings, so we look at one another and gamely make the sign of the cross around the table so we might serve the food.

“I just want everybody to see this.” Tess holds up In Style magazine. “I am so proud of you.” Tess passes around a glossy picture of A

Mom looks at the photograph proudly. “I love them. They’re very Valentine.”

“The orders will pour in. I just know it,” Tess says supportively.

When the magazine reaches Alfred, he looks at it and passes it along to Pamela, who, for the first time since she met my brother, seems duly impressed with his family.

“Have you set the wedding date, Gram?” Jaclyn asks.

“Valentine’s Day in 2009 in Arezzo,” Gram says, smiling at me. “I adore that holiday and my granddaughter’s name, so there it is.”

As my family discusses their travel plans to the wedding, what airport, which rental car company, how many hotel rooms we’ll book at the Spolti I

Alfred hands the magazine to me. “A lucky reprieve,” he says quietly.

“As long as I make the payments on this place, you ca

My sisters help me do the dishes and clean up the kitchen while the men watch football. This is the last family Thanksgiving on Perry Street. This time next year, Gram will be living with her new husband in his home over the ta

I pack up leftovers for everyone to take home. Gabriel takes the last of Roman’s cobbler, knowing it’s the last time he’ll ever get it without ordering it at Ca’ d’Oro. I send Gram up to bed to talk with Dominic on the phone. I’m thrilled to be alone at the end of a long day. I hear the key in the lock downstairs. My mother must have forgotten something. Then I hear a voice call softly to me from the stairwell, “Valentine?”